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AN EXCELLENT RECEIPT 



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V 



V 



CI.D 22802 



AN EXCELLENT RECEIPT 

First performed by Royal Command at Marl- 
borough House on March 7th, 1908. 

Sir Walter Armadale . Charles Hawtrey 
Lady Armadale. . . Irene Vanbrugh 

Joyce {Lady Armadale s maid) . Mona Harrison 

Scene. — Lady Armadale's drawing-room in Plan- 
Mansions. 



The Amateur Fee for each and every representa- 
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Strand, London. 

No performance may take place unless a written 
authority has first been obtained. 



AN EXCELLENT RECEIPT 

Scene. — A cosily furnished drawing-room. It is 
about I a.m. Joyce is sitting up for her mistress, 
reading a fairy tale. 

Joyce. " So they got married and they were 
crowned King and Queen. And they Hved together 
happily ever after. And Heaven blessed them with a 
beautiful little Prince every year." {She puts down 
the hook.) Ha ! That's all very well in fairy stories, 
but it's not real life. Look at Sir Walter and her 
ladyship. They married years ago — but they didn't 
live together happily very long. And Heaven didn't 
bless them with no little Princes. ... Sir Walter 
soon went off his way, and she hers. Same address, 
" Plantagenet Mansions " — but him in one flat and 
her in another. United in the eyes of the world, yet 
hardly on speaking terms. What a way to live ! If 
it was me, Td apply to the Court for redistribution of 
conjurer's rights, 

{Electric hell.) 

There's her ladyship ! {Going to the door.) I do 
hope she'll go straight off to bed and not sit up gossip- 
ing till the mJlk comes, like she does sometimes. 

{Exit Joyce and enter Lady Armadale, almost 
immediately followed hy Joyce.) 

Lady Armadale. Here I am at last, Joyce. 
Aren't you dreadfully sleepy ? 

Joyce. Oh no, my lady, thank you kindly. It's 
only just gone one. 

7 



8 AN EXCELLENT RECEIPT 

Lady A. I'm so sorry I didn't take my key and 
tell you not to sit up. But you can go to bed now. 
I can m.anage without you. 

Joyce. Shan't I just help you undress, my lady ? 

Lady A. No, thank you. 

Joyce. I'd sooner just undo you, at all events, 
my lady, and put you into your peignoir and slippers — 
I would really. 

Lady A. No — no. Go to bed at once. The fact 
is, Joyce, I'm expecting a visitor 

Joyce (surprised). A visitor, my lady ? 

Lady A. Yes. I rather think Sir Walter may 
look in 

Joyce (excitedly) Sir Walter ? You don't mean 
that ? Oh, my lady — hadn't I better stop and 
protect you ? 

Lady A. (amused). Protect me, Joyce ? What 
from ? 

Joyce. Well — you never know, with husba.nds. 
It's years since you've met him tete-d-tete, isn't it, 
my lady ? You don't know how he mightn't behave. 
He might be voilent. 

Lady A. Nonsense, Joyce — go to bed 

Joyce. Very good, my lady. (Going.) What 
time would you wish to be called ? 

Lady A. You needn't call me. I'll ring — good- 
night, Joyce. 

Joyce. Good-night, my lady. 

(Exit Joyce.) 

(Lady Armadale, affecting to he calm, hums a little 
air. She opens the door into the passage — pauses 
a moment to listen — then pushes an easy chair before 
the fire and settles into it with a hook, pretending to 
read, hut every now and then listening to hear if 
there is any one at the door. Presently a gentle 
tapping is heard. She throxvs down the hook and 
hegins to rush gladly to the door, then checks herself 



AN EXCELLENT RECEIPT 9 

and advances more soberly. She opens the door on 
the chain.) 

Lady A. Who is there ? 

Sir Walter {without). It's I — Walter — will you 
be so very obliging as to let me come in ? I'll explain 
why 

Lady A. (coldly). Very well. (5^^ undoes the 
chain and admits him.) 

(Enter Sir Walter Armadale, he has his latch-key 
in his hand. They come down stage.) 

Sir Walter. I don't know how to apologize enough 
for disturbing you in this outrageous way. The fact 
is — something happened to my latch — or my key. 
I can't get the door of my flat open 

Lady A. Well ? 

Sir W. Well, it's rather late to go off to a hotels 
and then, I've no luggage, of course. So I thought, 
perhaps— er 

Lady A. Yes ? 

Sir W. I thought perhaps you'd be so extra- 
ordinarily kind as to aUow me to — er — to bivouac 
on your sofa, here, for a few hours 

Lady A. Surely you can ring up your servants ? 

Sir W. There's no one there. I've given the 
maids a holiday. I'm only passing through town. I 
was in Hampshire last week with the Wildey Wests, 
and I'm shooting at old Harry Muffet's in Norfolk 
to-morrow, and I sent Packham down there to-night 
with my things and a couple of spaniels. Old 
Harry's short of dogs. I've got to be at Liverpool 
Street at 8 a.m., and so 

Lady A. (coldly). Well — if you've nowhere else 
to go, I suppose there can be no great objection to 
your resting here on the sofa until it's time for your 
train. Shall you need a rug or anything ? 

Sir W. Oh no, thanks. It's delightfully warm 



10 AN EXCELLENT RECEIPT 

in here. It's most awfully good of you to allow me 
to stay 

Lady A. Not at all. I don't see that I have any 
alternative. (She seats herself again in the chair hy 
the fire, with her hack to Sir Walter, and resumes her 
hook.) 

Sir W. (after a pause). How pretty you've made 
this room ! 

Lady A. (over her shoulder). I must ask you, if 
you please, not to presume upon the situation which 
circumstances have brought about. The temporary 
shelter which I have been constrained to extend to 
you involves no social obligation — on either side. 

Sir W. (staggered). What on earth d'you mean ? 

Lady A. I mean — don't talk. As soon as I've 
finished this chapter I shall go to my room. (She 
resumes her hook.) 

Sir W. Well, but — very well. I suppose I must 
do as you tell me. Still, it seems almost a pity we 
shouldn't avail ourselves of this extraordinary oppor- 
tunity for a quiet chat. We haven't had such a 
chance for years, and we may never have such another, 
so that 

Lady A. Since you won't let me finish my chapter 
in peace — I'll leave you. (Closes her hook and rises.) 

Sir W. (starting forward). No, don't — please, 
Winnie ! Not just this very instant 

Lady A. What possible good can come of a " quiet 
chat " as you call it, at this stage in our career ? 
Didn't we have one over two years ago — before we 
agreed upon our present modus vivendi, our " live 
and let live " arrangement ? 

Sir W. So far as I remember, that was hardly a 
quiet chat, was it ? 

Lady A. I think so — as far as I was concerned, at 
all events — I hope you don't suggest, do you, that 
our discussion degenerated into a brawl? 

Sir W. a brawl ? Good heavens — no ! But, if 
I recollect rightly, I think I had a few burning words 



AN EXCELLENT RECEIPT 11 

to say on the subject of that infernal Itahan organ- 
grinder with whom you were pleased to become 
infatuated 

Lady A. {aside). He's still angry, bless him ! 
Darling old Walter ! (Aloud — coldly.) To speak of 
Signor Consordino, the celebrated virtuoso, as an 
" organ-grinder " and of my appreciation of his genius 
as " infatuation " is an impertinence — and, in present 
circumstances, a cowardly impertinence. 

Sir W. Well, but 

Lady A. It is not often that I have had to re- 
proach you with remembering that you are my 
husband 

Sir W. My dear Winnie 



Lady A. But if you can't behave courteously 
like a — like a stranger, I shah have to ask you to 
await the 8 a.m. elsewhere. 

Sir W. Pray forgive me — I'm absolutely in the 
wrong. I had no right to rake up the infernal 
past 

Lady A. I beg your pardon ? 

Sir W. I mean — the blessed past. Blessed at 
first, that is — it became gradually infernal. 

Lady A. Through whose fault ? 

Sir W. Oh, through mine, I admit. That's to 
say, to start with. 

Lady A. "To start with " ! 

Sir W. In the first instance, I was wrong to pay 
even the little attention I did to — to a certain lady. 

Lady A. " Certain " lady, indeed ! / should 
have called her a very doubtful lady. 

Sir W. I can only assure you that as far as / was 
concerned. — 

Lady A. That's not the question. It was a 
slight upon me that you should have chosen to 
afflcher yourself with that — Miss Sadie Hardbaker — 
wasn't her name ? — an American chorus-girl. 

Sir W. Pardon me, my dear. Not chorus-girl. 
She brought an action against the management, it 



12 AN EXCELLENT RECEIPT 

you remember, and the jury decided she was an 
actress. 

Lady A. They hadn't seen her on the stage, had 
they? 

Sir W. Well, no. 

Lady A.. Ah — I thought not. 

Sir W. In any case — actress or no actress — she 
was a stranger in a strange land. 

Lady A. Yet, by all accounts, she seemed to know 
her w^ay about. 

Sir W. {ignoring the interruption). You see, 
Americans are always so awfully polite and hospit- 
able to English people who visit their shores, that 
when the "Little Miss Cute" Company came over 
here, I felt— I felt 

Lady A. You felt it behoved the gentlemen of 
England, as a matter of international courtesy, to 
take the extra ladies out to supper ? 

Sir W. Well, the fact is, when I was introduced 
to Miss Hardbaker, she happened to remark that she'd 
heard a lot about the Savoy Restaurant, but that 
she'd never been there. 

Lady A. She was nervous, I suppose, and trying 
to make conversation. Yes ? Go on. — 

Sir W. I naturally at once begged her to do me 
the honour to let me be her cicerone and give her some 
supper there. You see, in America, a girl thinks 
nothing of being seen at a restaurant with a man. 

Lady A. Yes, but, in America, what does the 
man's wife think about it ? 

Sir W. Oh — out there there's a much stronger 
spirit of camaraderie between the sexes than there is 
in this country. A wife is only too pleased if her 
husband has a good time now and again with some 
bright, merry companion of the opposite sex. And 
he, on the other hand, if he sees that hi. wife excites 
the frank admiration of other men, has the sense to 
appreciate it as a compliment to his good taste — he 
simply feci, a glcw of honest pride. 



AN EXCELLENT RECEIPT 13 

Lady A. And that mutual confidence is what you 
approve of ? 

Sir W. Certainly. 

Lady A. And yet I can't remember your glowing 
with honest pride when poor Paulo Consordino com- 
plimented your good taste by frankly admiring me. 

Sir W. {furiously). Don't dare to mention that 
coundrel's name. An infernal Italian Jew — with 
greasy black ringlets all over his shoulders 

Lady A. Lm sure he'd have shaved his head 
\^'illingly, if Ld asked him. 

Sir W. He wasn' even a flyer at his own job. 
He couldn't play for nuts. 

Lady A. That's nonsense, Walter. Whatever 
you might think of him as a man, he was a divine 
musician. 

Sir W. How you could be seen speaking to the 
wretch 

Lady A. Well, I think he gathered that you 
didn't much like us to be seen talking together. For 
on one occasion, if you remember, he wrote what he 
had to say. 

Sir W. Don't remind me of that terrible evening. 
I saw him hand you a twisted-up note. I saw you 
secrete it and beam upon him as if he'd saved your 
life. When I desired you to show me what the brute 
had had the impudence to write, you refused to show 
it me. 

Lady A. Certainly. If you'd asked me civilly 
I might, perhaps, have let you seen it — although it 
was a privileged communication 

Sir W. (boiling with rage). " Privileged communi- 
cation," indeed ! 

Lady A. But you storm.ed and raged and de- 
manded it as a conjugal right. So that, as a matter 
of precedent, I felt I had no alternative but to refuse. 
Besides, you might have done him some mischief. 

Sir W. Why should you wish to protect the 
brute ? 



14 AN EXCELLENT RECEIPT 

Lady A. "A stranger in a strange land." Poor 
Paulo ! 

Sir W. {furious). I forbid you to call him 
" Paulo." 

Lady A. [coldly). Really, Walter, I cannot allow 
you to adopt this tone. You must remember you 
are only in my room on sufferance. 

Sir W. I can't help that. You shan't speak 
familiarly, in my presence, of the villain who wrecked 
my life. 

Lady A. " Wrecked your life," indeed ! You 
talk like a man in a melodrama. Your life was never 
wrecked, my dear. On the contrary, you got tired 
of fair-weather cruising in home waters, so you deliber- 
ately ran up the Black Flag, changed your course, 
and sailed off in search of adventures. 

Sir W. Nothing of the kind. A fortnight of 
Miss Sadie Hardbaker's circumspect companionship 
had effectually quenched my thirst for adventures. 
At the end of that — bootless divagation, all my nerves 
stood out like porcupine's quills. The fragrance of 
her favourite scent made me sick. Her voice exas- 
perated me like the twanging of a banjo. Her tales 
of histrionic triumphs — in three-line parts and three- 
inch bodices — held my attention no longer. Even at 
the witching hour of closing at the Savoy — when a 
man's heart is usually at its most susceptible — I 
ceased to be thrilled by her raucous whispers, redolent 
of cigarettes and Cr eme-de-menthe. 

Lady A. In short, your enthusiasm having lost 
its sparkle you brought me home the lees — and felt 
aggrieved that I said " No, thank you." 

Sir W. I came home like the prodigal son expect- 
ing forgiveness and welcome — but, lo and behold, 
the fatted calf had been already killed and served 
a la Milanaise to an infernal Italian interloper ! 

Lady A. [half to herself). A la Milanaise — that's 
rather funny ! (Aloud.) Well, perhaps / did make 
rather a fuss of Consordino. 



AN EXCELLENT RECEIPT 15 

Sir W. Of course you did. Everybody noticed 
it. I wasn't the only one. 

Lady A. I don't suppose you were. Indeed, you 
were prol)ably the last. 

Sir W. I tried hard to persuade myself that it 
was all on the surface — that you were simply moved 
by his music — that you admired the man merely as 
a musician. In fact, your friend Lady Hulda assured 
me she too felt convinced that was all. 

Lady A. Had you consulted her ? 

Sir W. No. She came of her own accord and 
said how sorry she was to see all that was going on, 
but perhaps there was nothing in it. 

Lady A. How very thoughtful of Hulda ! 

Sir W. It was, indeed. I shall never forget 
it. 

Lady A. No more shall I. But — to revert to 
my conduct — -I admit that I made the most of Con- 
sordino 's devotion to me, that's to say that I purposely 
made it conspicuous to the world — not that I cared 
twopence about the poor little wretch, but simply 

Sir W. Simply to tease m.e ? 

Lady A. Tease you ? No. To hurt you — to 
humiliate you — to spoil your appetite — to keep you 
awake at nights — to tear at your heart-strings — to 
make your life a misery to you. 

Sir W. I don't see that that's anything to boast 
of. 

Lady A. I know it isn't. I should never have 
dreamed of behaving in such a demoniacal way six 
years ago — when you first knew me. It wasn't in 
my nature. 

Sir W. What changed you ? 

Lady A. The obvious reply is, " You did." But 
that wouldn't be quite fair. It was an impersonal 
you. It was the modern husband — who just hap- 
pened to be you. 

Sir W. What's the matter with the modern 
husband ? 



16 AN EXCELLENT RECEIPT 

Lady A. There's not much harm in him — nor 
much good either. 

Sir W. Then what's your grievance ? 

Lady A. Oh — every one resents being taken in. 

Sir W. Taken in ? 

Lady A. Yes. Marriage is only our old friend 
the Confidence Trick — in a new guise. The bride- 
groom is the benevolent stranger who promises all 
sorts of benefits if you'll only trust him. The bride 
is the rustic who hands over crisp banknotes — and 
gets only tissue paper in exchange. 

Sir W. My dear Winifred — my withers are un- 
wrung. What did I ever promise which I didn't 
carry out ? 

Lady A. My dear Walter — don't assume such an 
impossibly virtuous air — or I shall imagine you're 
worse than you are. Nobody since the world began 
was ever quite so good as you look. It's the seraphic 
smile of the butcher when he's swearing he's never had 
a bit of frozen meat in his shop. 

Sir W. But how do you allege the modern hus- 
band imposes upon his bride ? 

Lady A. By expecting so much more than he 
brings. By bringing so much less than she expects. 
To a nicely-brought-up girl marriage is the most 
sacred step in her life. Whereas with a man, marriage 
is merely an incident of departing youth — of waning 
vigour ; a step towards middle-age. He takes a 
wife — with a shrug and a sigh and a half apology — 
just as he takes to Vichy instead of Champagne, or 
to driving a motor-car instead of riding to hounds. 

Sir W. It was in no such spirit that I looked for- 
ward to my marriage with you, Winnie. I was over 
thirty when I first met you — and I'd knocked about 
the world like other men. But the instant our eyes 
met, I'd fallen headlong in love with all the ardour 
of a boy of twenty. I could think of no one else — 
talk of no one else. All day long I used to tear from 
place to place — the park, picture-galleries, concerts — 



AN EXCELLENT RECEIPT 17 

even tea-parties — on the chance to get a glimpse of 
you. And at nights I used to pace up and down under 
your window, to the keen suspicion of the poHceman 
on beat. D'you remember my stealing that little 
miniature of you, set in crystals, off your mother's 
drawing-room chimney-piece ? 

Lady A. I know. That was disgraceful. Poor 
Rosalie was suspected and nearly got sent away. 

Sir W. It was a most unjustifiable thing to do, I 
admit. 

Lady A. " Unjustifiable " is a very mild word. 
It was distinctly dishonest. 

Sir W. So it was. But I did so long for an effigy 
of you to help me over the hours when I had to be 
away from you — something to gaze at — to whisper 
loving words to — to cover with kisses 

Lady A. Why didn't you simply ask me for my 
photograph ? 

Sir W. I^I didn't know you well enough. We'd 
only met two or three times, you know. I remember 
your mother came in suddenly, as I was apostrophiz- 
ing your portrait by the window — miles away from 
the chimney-piece. I felt I couldn't explain, so I — 
I pocketed it. 

Lady A. You didn't confess your crime to me till 
months after. 

Sir W. Not until after we were engaged. 

Lady A. And I only forgave you on your solemn 
promise to wear my miniature as long as you loved 
me. " That will be for ever and ever," said you. 

Sir W. (about to speak affectionately — checks him- 
self.) That was my impression at the time. 

Lady A. [disappointed at his ansiiuey — with affected 
lightness). What's happened to my poor little portrait 
now ? 

Sir W. It's — it's put away. 

Lady A. With loot from many another conquest, 
I suppose. (Gives a little sigh.) Well, it doesn't 
matter — since w^e're no longer lovers. I think I 



18 AN EXCELLENT RECEIPT 

must follow your example and start a museum of 
trophies too. 

Sir W. I've no doubt you've a most interesting 
collection. Perhaps you'll allow me to inspect it 
some day? 

Lady A. I'm not sure. I don't know how you'd 
behave. You might lose your temper. You see, 
however dead and buried a man's love for a woman 
may be, his self love remains immortal and ever 
young. However impassive a man may be, if you 
prick his vanity he'll shriek like a spoilt child. 

Sir W. I suppose — amongst your treasured 
trophies — the note from Consordino will hold an 
honoured place ? 

Lady A. The historical communication which I 
refused to show you ? Ah — I don't think I shall 
exhibit that. 

Sir W. [controlling himself). Have you — have you 
still got it ? 

Lady A. How can you ask ? Presumably it was 
worth keeping — or I surely shouldn't have made 
such a fuss about it. 

Sir W. Where — -where is it ? 

Lady A. It's — it's put away. Like my miniature. 

Sir W. (bursting forth). " Like your miniature " ? 
Do you dare to profane that sacred relic — embalmed 
as it is with all the sentiment of our early days of 
happiness — by comparing it with a garlic-laden 
billet-doux ? 

Lady A. / never said it was a billet-doux. 

Sir W. What else can it be ? What else do 
women secrete and treasure ? 

Lady A. Oh — lots of silly things. 

Sir W. But what does the nature of the missive 
matter — -since you treasure it for his sake. And now 
you boast that you actually wear it next your heart 
day and night and kiss it and weep over it — as I have 
done all these years with your miniature. 

Lady A. (delighted and surprised). Why, Walter — 



AN EXCELLENT RECEIPT U 

you don't mean to tell me that in spite of everything 
you still carry my portrait about with you — next your 
heart ? 

Sir W. Yes — like the weak fool that I am. But 
I'm cured of my folly at last. Since you prize the 

love-letter of that damned Italian (He tears 

open his shirt and produces the miniature.) 

Lady A. Wait a moment, darling. Before you 
do anything desperate — you shall see the. precious 
document. (She goes to a drawer and takes from it a 
little twisted-up note.) ■ 

(Meanwhile Sir Walter apostrophizes the portrait.) 

Sir W. Little oval face — little brown curls — little 
laughing eyes. You've beamed comfort upon me — 
times out of number when my loneliness seemed 
almost too much to bear. But I must wear you no 
longer since she whose face you recall has cast me out 
of her heart, out of her life 

Lady A. Come, Walter — .don't talk nonsense. Is 
this the note you've been worrying about ? 

Sir W. That's it. I can swear to it — its spiil^ 
like form has haunted me for years. Am I to rekd 
it? 

Lady A. If you please. It breathes of the Sunny 
South. It's given me a great deal of satisfaction — 
but you may destroy it now if you like—^I've read it 
so often that I know it by heart. 

Sir W. (gives her a reproachful glance — then opens 
the note and reads) . " Put four ounces of good macaroni 
into a saucepan with three pints of boiling water. 
Boil for four minutes, not longer ; stew the maca- 
roni in a pint of good stock ; add an ounce of 
grated Parmesan cheese, stirring well, and add a piece 
of butter the size of a walnut." Why, this is 
simply a receipt for macaroni ! 

Lady A. A la Milanaise — and an excellent receipt 
too. Consordino's father was cook at Ritz's Hotel, 
you know. 



20 AN EXCELLENT RECEIPT 

Sir W. And this — harmless formula has been the 
sole ground for all the misery I've endured ? 

Lady A. Apparently the acquaintance with the 
American figurante which so upset me was just as 
innocent. 

Sir W. Yes, but — wasn't it a little unkind of you 
to let me suffer all this time — for nothing ? 

Lady A. Surely you'd have more reason for resent- 
ment if it hadn't been for nothing. But — believe 
me, darling — Lve been quite as wretched as you can 
have been. 

Sir W. My sweet Winnie ! 

{They embrace — he catches sight of the clock.) 

Sir W. Good heavens ! D'you know the time ? 
It's nearly seven. My train goes at eight. 

Lady A. Can't you — can't you send Harry Muffet 
a telegram ? 

Sir W. Of course I will, if I may. But there's 
loads of time for that. Do you realize, my darling, 
that — somehow or other — we've made it up ? And 
to think that we owe all this to chance — .to the chance 
which clogged the lock of my door ! 

Lady A. Shall I make a confession ? 

Sir W. What, darling ? 

Lady A. It wasn't chance — it was / who filled 
that lock with coal dust. 

Sir W. My angel ! (He kisses her.) 

Lady A. Must I — must I send and have your 
door broken open ? 

Sir W. It may stay closed for ever now — unless 
you wish me to go ? 

Lady A. No, sweetheart — stay here — always. 

Curtain. 



Butler & Tanner The SelwooJ Priiuing Works Frome and London 



CHARLES H. FOX, Ltd. 

THEATRICAL 
PERRUQU lER & COSTUMIER 

27, WELLINGTON STREET, STRAND, 
LONDON, W.G. 



Wigs & Costumes lent on Hire. 

Amateur Performances Attended in Town or Country, 
Limelight, Tableaux, etc. 

CURTA9NS LENT ON HIRE OR PURCHASE. 

Transformations for Private Use a Speciality at Half 
the Usual Prices, all Work being Executed on the 
Premises. 



CATALOGUES POST FREE. 



The plays of r. C. carton. 

IS. 6d. each. 

LADY HUNTWORTH'S EXPERIMENT, 

LIBERTY HALL. 
MR. HOPKINSON. 
SUNLIGHT AND SHADOW, 

THE PL A YS OF H. V. ESMOND, 

IS. 6d. each. 

BILLY'S LITTLE LOVE AFFAIR. 

ONE SUMMER'S DA Y. 

WHEN WE WERE TWENTY-ONE. 

WILDERNESS, 

THE PLAYS OF MADELEINE LUCETTE 
RYLEY. 

IS. 6d. each. 

AN AMERICAN CITIZEN, 
fEDB UR Y JUNIOR, 
MICE AND MEN. 



% 



THE PLA YS OF OSCAR WILDE. 

IS, 6d. each. 

IMPORTANCE OF BEING EARNEST^ 
LADY WINDERMERE'S FAN, 



LONDON: SAMUEL FRENCH. LIMITED. 



THE PLAYS OF C. H ADDON CHAMBERS 

IS. 6d. each. 
THE AWAKENING. 
CAPTAIN SWIFT, 
THE IDLER. 
SIR ANTHONY. 
TYRANNY OF TEARS. 

THE PLAYS OF MARK AMBIENT, 
IS. 6d. each. 
OH, SUSANNAH ! 
SNUG LITTLE KINGDOM. 

THE PLAYS OF ARTHUR LAW. 

IS. 6d. each. 
COUNTRY MOUSE. 
NEW BOY. 

THE PLAYS OF JEROME K. JEROME. 

IS. 6d. each. 
MISS HOBBS. 
WOODBARROW FARM. 

BY ANTHONY HOPE. 

ADVENTURE OF LADY URSULA. 
PILKERTON'S PEERAGE. 



\ONWN : SAMUEL FRENCH, LJMITEP 



THE PLAYS OF ALFRED SUTRO. 



Paper, acting edition, is. 6d. net. Cloth, Library Edition, 
2S, 6d. net. 

THE FASCINATING MR. VANDERVELDT. 
A COMEDY IN FOUR ACTS. (Paper only.) 

THE BARRIER. (Cloth only.) 

A PLAY IN FOUR ACTS. 

THE BUILDER OF BRIDGES. (Cloth only.) 
A PLAY IN FOUR ACTS, 

CAVE OF ILLUSION. (Cloth only.) 
A PLAY IN FOUR ACTS. 

JOHN GLAYDE'S HONOUR. (Cloth only.) 
A PLAY IN FOUR ACTS, 

MOLLENTRAVE ON WOMEN. 

A COMEDY IN THREE ACTS. 

THE PERFECT LOVER. 

A PLAY IN FOUR ACTS, 

THE WALLS OF JERICHO. 

A PLAY IN FOUR ACTS. 

The following One-Act Plays at 6d. each. 
CARROTS. 

THE CORRECT THING. 
ELLA'S APOLOGY. 
A GAME OF CHESS. 
THE GUTTER OF TIME 
A MAKER OF MEN. 
THE MAN ON THE KERB. 
A MARRIAGE HAS BEEN ARRANGED. 
THE OPEN DOOR. 
MR. STEINMANN'S CORNER, 
THE SALT OF LIFE, 



]>TtAinriT9^0 JROOBS. 




Only acpti 111 bUb ia,igti :sL&e, Dtie OiiUK. dutsue m I'i feeb long aud 9 teei Qigu aou ex- 
tends with the Wings and Borders to 20 feet long and 11 J feet high. In the centre 
Is a French window, leading down to the ground, On the left wing is a fireplace 
with mirror above, and on the right wing is an oil painting. The whole scene is 
tastefully ornamented and beautifully coloured, forming a most elegant picture. 
The above is a representation of a box scene consisting of 38 sheets of paper, 
the extra sheets being used for the doors each side. 

£ s. d. 
Back Scene, Border, and 1 Set of Wings, unmounted .. ..200 

Ditto, mounted 4 4 

Back Scene, Border, with 2 Sets of Wings as above to form Box 

Scene, unmounted 2 10 

Ditto, mounted ... 5 6 




, Is also Kept in the large size only. In the centre is a door 1 ading outside. 
this left centre is a rustic fireplace, and the right centre la a window. On the 
ngs are painted shelves, d^c, to complete the scene. The above is a represen- 
.ion of this scene with 1 set of Wings only (not a Bov Scene), but a Box Scene 

jd be made by purchasing the extra set of Wings. Prices mmI size 

awing Room Scene above 



FRENCH'S ACTING EDITION 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 



VOLUME 150 
aS3 The Dentist 
2237 Taken for Granted 
223S Just as Well 
2239 Hogmany 
«24(J Pansy 

2241 A Doctor's Engage- 

ments 

2242 A Duet 

82*3 My Milliner's Bill, Is. 

2244 My Annt from Cali- 

fornia 

2245 His Life for Hers 

2246 The Meeting 
8247 The Umbrella 

Duologue 

2248 The Late Lamented 

2249 Woman Triumphant 
2260 Angelina's Lover 

VOLUME 151 
2251 ChrysanthemuraH 
2262 My First Client 

2253 Punctured 

2254 Old Pals 

2255 Honeymoon Tragedy 

2256 Commission 

2257 Hal, the Highwayman 

2258 Dinner for Two 

2259 Ninth Waltz 

2260 Human Sport 

2261 Collaborators 

2262 Mere Man 

2263 Packing Up 

2264 Paying Guest 

2265 'Enery Brown 

VOLUME 162 
2260 The Jilt 

2287 'Op-o'-Me-Thumb 

2288 A Marriage Has Been 

Arranged 

2269 Carrots 

2270 Conversion of Nat 

Sturge 



2271 Clerical 

2272 Aubrey 

2273 Workbo 

2274 Two on 
2273 Bridget 

2276 That Bi 

2277 Well M 

2278 Maker c 

2279 Gutter o.x/.ns 
2^80 Game of Chess 




Martha 

e's De- 

014 432 756 1 •, ^"^' 

•<W10 unei&UicE^s Darling 



VOLUME 155 

2281 Mr. Steinmann's 

Comer 

2282 Ella's Apology 

2283 Colour Sergeant 

2284 Helpless Couple 

2285 First Aid to the 

Wounded 

2286 Correct Thing 

2287 Their New Paying 

Guest 

2288 Domestic Entangle- 

ment 

2289 Salt of Ufe 

2290 Time is Money 

2?91 Wally and the Widow 
2292 Deceitful Miss Smiths 
2 93 Holly Tree Inn 

2294 Up to-flate 

2295 Bit of Old Chelsea 



VOLUME 154 



the 



2296 Wrong Side 

Koad 

2297 The Open Door 

2298 Prima Donna (Pem- 

berton) 

2299 Liglits Out(Pemberton) 
2^00 Mirror of Time 

2301 Three Blind Mice 

(Muskerry) 

2302 Privy Council 

2303 Snowerl up with a 

Duchess 



VOLUME 155 

2311 That Horrid Major 

2312 Bardwell v. Pickwick 

2313 House of Nightingales 

2314 Turtle Doves (der 

2315 Superior Miss Pellen- 

2316 His Good Genius 

2317 Martha Plays the Fairy 

2318 Dumb Cake 

2319 Proposing by Proxv 

2320 Phamix 

2321 Boatswain's Mate 

2322 Final Rehearsal 

2323 Two AuTits at a Time 

2324 Nelson Touch 

2325 Convict on the Hearth 

VOLUME 156 

2326 Grey Parrot 

2327 Ghost of Jerry Bundler 

2328 Bishop's Candlesticks 

2329 Peacemaker 

2330 Changeling 

2331 Wire Entanglement 

2332 Pririe of Regiment 
233^ '".58S" 

2334 Man on the Kerb 
233t O'Dowd 

2336 Impertinence of the 

Cieature 

2337 Dramatist at Home 

2335 Martha the Soothsayer 

2339 Old Martha- Is. 

2340 All Through Martha Is. 



AN AMERICAN CITIZEN 
BILLYS LITTLE LOVE 

AFFAIR 
BRACE OF PARTRIDGES 
BRIXTON BURGLARY 
CAPTAIN SWIFF 
CASSILIS ENGAGEMENT 
CHARITY THAT BEGAN 

AT HOME 
COUNTRY MOUSE 
DR. WAKE'S PATIENT 
FACING THE MUSIC 
FASCINATING MR. VAN- 

DERVELDT 
IDLER. 
IMPORTANCE OF BEING 

EARXESi' 
IN CHANCERY 
JEDBURY JUNIOR 



BARRIER 

BUILDER OF BRIDGES 

CAVE OP ILLUSION 

DANCING GTKL 

HYPOCRITES 

JOSEPH ENTANGLED 



Is. 6d. net Edition 

LADY HUNTWORTH'S 

EXPERIMENT 
LADY WINDERMERE'S 

FAN 
LIBERTY HALL 
LUCKY MISS DEAN 
MARRIAGE OF KITTY 
MICE AND MEN 
MI-S ELIZABETH'S 

PH'SONER 
MISS HO BBS 
MOLLKNTRAVE ON 

WOMEN 
MR. HOPKINSON 
NEW BOY 
NIOBE 

OH : SUSANNAH! 
ONE SUMMER'S DAY 
PARVENU 



PASSPORT 
PERFECT LOVER 
PETER'S MOTHER 
PILKERTON'S PEERAGE 
PRIVATE SECRETARY 
RETURN OP THE PRO- 
DIGAL 
ROCKET [DOM 

SNUG LITTLE KING- 
SQUIRE 

SUNLIGHT & SHAD' ^ 
TWO MR. WETHEP" 
WALKER TO—- 
WHEN ~ >- -_ / 
TWRg |«i^ * 
WILDRl O ^ ~\ 
WISDOM OF FOIJ 
WOODBARROVV / 



2s. 6d. ne' Library Edition 

JOHN GLAYDE'« 

HONOUR 
MANOEUVRES OF JANE 
MASQU'RADERS 
MIDDLEMAN 



MOLLENTKAVE 

WOMEN 
MRS. DANE'S DEl> 
PERP' CT LOVER 
SILVER KING \ 

WALLS OF JBRICHGf 



!l\ 






